


Deal into Madness

by Sparcina



Series: Hannigram Melodies [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Will, Confusion, Consensual Violence, Hannibal is a Cannibal, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Rope Bondage, Sexual Violence, Top Hannibal, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:27:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2160600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is desperate to get ahold of his sanity; Hannibal leads him elsewhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deal into Madness

**Author's Note:**

> The link to the song [Body Flow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIsaHiCUUZU) from Interface.

He didn’t know what he was doing in front of this door. Oh, he knew the door well enough. As for the world to which it led to… When he touched the doorknob, sensing an unmistakable hotness under his cold fingertips, he let out a breath he hadn't even know he was holding.

Was this a dream or the truth, this time? He wouldn’t know until he tried.

**OoO**

Will woke up with a start, tangled up in wet sheets like an insect in a spider web – or perhaps, more accurately, a corpse carved in a tree, filled with poisonous flowers. He could see naught, only feel the strange pain blooming in his chest and his heart beating too fast, and faster, like there would be no blood to pump tomorrow.

He pulled his arms to his chest and curled up in a ball, letting out a strangled cry. He was used to strange dreams. That was part of his job description, the step after trading skins with every sadistic killer around Virginia, the unconscious work of his terrifying and vulnerable mind.

There was one murderer whom he couldn’t comprehend, though: the Chesapeake Ripper, whose motives continued to evade him. The man behind this surname – he was sure it was a man – plagued him with horrible nightmares which, added to the ones he had accumulated until now thanks to his consulting job, threatened to rend him utterly useless, too broken up by internal struggles to fulfill even the most basic functions. The fact that his brain constantly gave him the impression to be on fire didn’t help.

Neither did Hannibal Lecter.

Will sighted and rolled on to his side, shivering from the cold sweat icing his skin. He remembered dreaming about a door, Doctor Lecter's office door to be exact, but what if he sleepwalked and really went to the man’s place?

He wanted to do so every second he was awake.

He began to shake more forcefully.

“Fuck…”

Fuck indeed.

He couldn’t really pinpoint when his feelings for the man had started to change. His psychiatrist – his friend, he corrected himself before succumbing to the weirdness of the perspective – was a brilliant, sophisticated man, with a very precious aptitude Will couldn’t go on without anymore: the calming power he owned over his mind. Not that the Doctor was actually manipulating him, off course. It was more like sharing his serenity every time he was near him, listening to his eyes, looking in his voice…

Will shook his head. Thinking about the Doctor was sometimes enough to sooth him, although he knew he needed his physical presence to anchor him in reality, to remind him he wasn’t a grotesque Frankenstein monster made of the minds of the serial killers he hunted.

And then there was his touch. When the Doctor… When Hannibal squeezed his shoulder in comfort, laid his hand over his own or hugged him from behind, the voices that tried to steal his sanity, the atrocious pictures of crime scenes – especially those of the Ripper’s –, everything dark and ugly just went away, the corrupted part of his mind shut down more effectively than a computer thrown out the window.

At first, he couldn’t come to terms with this realization. How could he… even… imagine seeking physical closeness with the only person that understood him, to manipulate him like that for his own sake! The Doctor was granting him so much personal time and help – helping him organize his mind twice a week now, cooking for him, ever the one to try to make his life easier –, he couldn’t repay him with such a pathetic plea!

Yes, it was pathetic. And wrong. Even more so because he didn’t really understand the feelings behind this overwhelming need. He just knew that at some point, he didn’t merely want to see him friend: he wanted him in the only way that could make him forget everything.

Will wasn’t sure he was ready himself for that, but he knew that his mind was going to break.

And soon.

**OoO**

Too worked up over his feelings – the most recent theatrical performance of the Ripper not helping –, Will canceled his next appointment with Hannibal. Desperate to get some sleep, he considered going to the one after that, even though his conscience kept telling him to get a grip on his hormones – could it possibly be just that? – but then he felt too ashamed and too confused. He had been a wreck for the past couple of days, alienating everybody at his job, although as far as he was concerned, _everyone_ could alienate Jack in the blink of an eye.

He listened to the ring, rehearsing his excuse to Hannibal. The Doctor certainly hated it when he canceled, and twice in a week wasn’t going to help his case. All his cases.

“Will? What can I do for you?”

Just hearing Hannibal’s voice made him feel calmer, more in control of himself. He relaxed his grip on the phone and told something about having too strong a headache to drive – which wasn’t entirely false. He almost had an accident last week in this state.

“I will call you a cab,” was Hannibal’s immediate answer. “Why don’t you sit down, now?”

Will did sit down. His legs wouldn’t hold him anymore. He tried one last time.

“I can tell something is on your mind, Will,” said Hannibal matter-of-factly. “Please come to me.”

The fact that Will wanted to do precisely just that didn’t leave him a lot of options.

“Ok,” he muttered. “I will…”

“The cab will be there soon,” Hannibal cut him gently. “Do wait for it. I wouldn’t want to worry about you, William.”

His name on Hannibal’s tongue sent a wave of heath down his spine.

Will hated his life.

**OoO**

The door opened before he had time to knock.

“Good evening, Will.”

He couldn’t keep his eyes down. He had to stare at Hannibal, take in his aristocratic features, his perfectly combed hair, his three-pieces suit of an incredible dark red color, his elegant hands, and his eyes… God, his eyes… For the first time, Will noticed they weren’t simply brown: they were pools of darkness adorned with sparks of red light, secrets desires swirling in a carefully constructed humanity. Will dove past the warning until he sensed, deep down in the Doctor’s mind, what could possibly give such a rich complexion to his eyes. He saw…

Blood. He saw blood, a lot of it, gore, and thick, large pieces of meat ready to be cooked,  and he tasted human flesh on his tongue, enjoyed the soft, complex texture, sliding in his throat…

By the time he understood, it was too late: Hannibal had read the truth on Will’s face and closed the door. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and a monster leaned over him.

“You know where to go, William.”

 _To find a way, to make it all work out_ [1]

_What makes you work, and what you’re all about_

Will almost fell in his attempt to escape the burning hand. Hannibal was immediately after him, forcing him to retreat behind his desk. Will had never felt so afraid in his life, but this fear was not alone in his heart. There was a desire there, too… _  
_

Hannibal’s feral smile made his heart jump. Was he going to kill him? Even though he knew that was a distinct possibility, the desire didn’t fade at all. Its intensity was beginning to hurt.

“You need me, Will,” Hannibal purred, slowly working his way around the desk, a hand trailing on the luxurious wooden surface, every movement lustful [2] and predatory.

Will stepped back, putting as much distance between this stranger he desperately needed and himself. He didn’t understand Hannibal’s hungry expression until his back hit the ladder. Hannibal pounced on him.

Really, he had never stood a chance.

“I always knew you would understand me, William,” Hannibal breathed near his ear, pouring shivers in his every nerve. “We are too alike.”

“I’m nothing like you!”

Hannibal pushed against him, and Will noticed that two strong arms were now holding him in place, with enough force to numb him. He could feel the lethal pressure of thumbs on his nape. Did he intend to strangle the life out of him, the same way he had captured the exquisite last breath of his previous victims?

“You understand me, Will,” crooned Hannibal, his certainty spiraling down Will’s eyes and mind. “You were made to.”

“I…”

_To touch your skin, there's so much to reveal  
There's not a thing that can be concealed_

Hannibal was now tracing small circles on his neck, reminding Will of the cannibalistic nature of the monster who was claiming a link between them. He tried to curb his fear. The desire helped – a lot – and the hated himself for it.

“How could you… kill… people… eat them,” he gasped.

He could feel tears running down his cheeks. Damn it! He came to Hannibal to forget about the monsters, and the Chesapeake Ripper greeted him. He would never be free of his nightmares; he had been, again, stupidly optimistic. 

But he wouldn’t survive this night in the first place, so why bother? he thought, breathing faster. Hannibal closed the remaining distance between them and loomed over him. Will snapped his eyes shut, not wanting to see the hunger for human flesh in those eyes of betrayal.

He then felt something wet on his cheek, a hotness not unlike the doorknob in his dream. It took him a moment to register that it was Hannibal’s tongue, licking away his tears, swallowing sadness and distress.

“Will…”

_My intuition is so well defined  
To find the best way to get to your mind_

Hannibal plundered his mouth with a deliberately slow and sensual art, with the same concentration he used to prepare his human meals. Will should have been afraid, should have – tried to – hit him and run away, but his head was getting dizzy and his reason with it. He let Hannibal’s tongue explore his mouth – he didn’t have a choice, couldn’t fathom one. The Doctor hands began to roam over his torso and his back, and Will let out a moan, unable to contain himself. He was so close to losing his mind.

“You need me, Will”, Hannibal purred again, biting his earlobe. “And you will need to do exactly what I say.”

His eyes had become so red, not unlike two wells of sanguine shadows, that Will gasped in a mixture of terror and amazement. He felt himself grow hard. There was no version of this world in which Hannibal couldn’t have sense it, wouldn’t use it, and indeed, the Doctor let out a growl, rubbing his hips into Will’s. If he was hard, Hannibal was even harder.

“You smell of fear”, he crooned, as if he had smelled some enchanting perfume.

“I…”

Will couldn’t form a coherent thought anymore. His fight-or-flee reflex had been crisscrossed with a new goal when Hannibal’s mouth had possessed his own, when those hands laced with human blood, with those fingers so unbearably precise in their drawings, had begun exploring his heated skin. He could feel the fever in the forefront of his head, his last drop of sanity running down one red cheek. Once again, Hannibal licked his tear, not wanting to make any part of him go to waste.

They exchanged a glance. Had he planned his submission all along, had he encouraged it, manipulated him into needing it? wondered Will, his breath stuck somewhere between his over-working lungs and his dry mouth. Could he had been so wrong about Hannibal Lecter, and so incredibly right at the same time? This madman offered him the keys to both his salvation and his slavery… or did he considered it slavery only because he hadn’t dwell long enough in Hannibal’s mind? He had difficulties telling what was right or wrong anymore. He only knew that if he was forced to leave this room now, he would rather have Hannibal kill him just yet.

“Yes,” groaned Hannibal. “Taste my thoughts, William.”

“This is my desire,” he answered. And the fear disappeared.

He didn’t need Hannibal to tell him to get on his knees, nor did he need the hand in his hair to make him undo his trousers. He didn’t feel threaten, or forced, or wrong. The veil that kept the truth hidden for so long had finally been lifted. His humanity had died out – he wasn’t even sure he had one in the first place. When he put the tip of his nose on Hannibal’s length, breathing in the sweetness of oblivion, the calmness he had struggled to reach, he also breathed in a man’s desire for the first time. He let his lips feel the hot skin. In a corner of his head, he was somehow surprised that Hannibal hadn’t already taken his mouth so conveniently close to the most sensitive part of his body.

“I’m not rude, but I will be if you wallow in temptation.”

The clouded eyes of Hannibal, the raw hunger he read there, made him shiver in anticipation. This was the person who would take care of the pain, who would nurture his dark awakening. The nightmares would go away, because Hannibal was their creator.

_Your very essence is what I admire  
Your very soul is what I desire_

“You want to forget?”

Will couldn’t answer with words: he was ways too far gone for that. Hannibal tilted his head back and crooned, his honeyed, throaty voice a steel vice around his frail volition.

“Open your mind for me, William. Let me in.”

And Will opened his mouth, swallowing him whole. When all of this was done, when he was, at long last, freed of his crippling anxiety, of his ridiculous veneer of humanity, he wouldn't remember how long he had spent like that, kneeling on the floor, throat tight and eyes full of tears as he sucked and sucked on that hot cock. It could have been minutes, or hours, and the pleasure was so intense, the pain just as maddening, that time itself felt distorted. He could only focus on breathing in and out, and then on not breathing at all, and still living, somehow, as Hannibal's arousal hit repeatedly the back of his throat. He would remember gasping and drooling, his knees would hurt and his mouth even more, but it would be a gentle kind of pain. It would be bliss.

But he would remember clearly the rope around his neck. How Hannibal had unfolded those long strands of abrasive constraints, how  _fucking good_ the limiting force applied to his throat had felt, still felt. Because he felt saner than he ever had, and that was Hannibal's doing. 

He still had the taste of Hannibal’s desire in his mouth, coating his tongue. When the other man had come, pouring hotness down his throat, he had gasped for air, expecting to feel disgusted. To his surprise, he had felt content to the point he had licked his lips, savoring the lost salty drops. Hannibal’s face, as he had watched him swallow, made him want to come right now, but he was to be distracted by another form of heady passion. 

And that was the rope chocking him. Feeling Hannibal’s expert fingers adjusting it against the weak spot of his throat, he began to feel a bit weak at the knees.

“You need not fear,” a spellbinding voice whispered in his ear, caressing him from the inside out. “I want to make you forget everything, until the only thing on your mind is me, until the only person you will ever need is me. Say my name, William.”

“Hannibal…”

_I'll move your mind, so let your feelings show  
To give a sign and make your body flow_

The rope tightened, making him jolt. A rough mouth made its way down his neck, kissing the sweaty skin, lapping every drop it could find. Teeth grazed his oversensitive skin. It drew embarrassing noises from Will. He shouldn’t have blush, not after going on his knees, but he still managed too.

Hannibal chuckled. He rested his hands on Will’s hips, still clad in jeans, while he laid down a trail of open-mouthed kisses on his torso. He took a nipple between his lips, working it gently with tongue and teeth. When he bit down on it, hard enough to draw blood, Will sagged in his restraints. He didn’t notice the rope around his neck anymore, nor the one binding his wrists to the wall. The empathy he normally used to dive into killer’s men was now making Hannibal’s every breath, smallest touch, a neuron-firework experience.

“Engel mein,” Hannibal purred, licking his other nipple. “Du bist mein, vor und nach dem Tod.” [1]

Grasping the first word, Will wondered if he was referring to the serial killer who bestowed wings to sinners out of their own ribcages or to the position he found himself him, right now. He decided he didn’t care if it was imagery or fantasy. He wanted Hannibal to push him down further into clarity, even if it meant his own death.

_Your throes of passion that I can't replicate  
The true sensation has made it worth the wait_

Human flesh… he thought as Hannibal sank his perfectly manicured nails into his sides, sketching trails of blood. This man was eating human flesh, killing men and women out of the simple desire to consume them. He should despise him, turn him over – kept telling the part of his mind he thought was sane.

If he wanted to end up with a rope around his neck in other circumstances, that is. He had the feeling the other man was not going to let him go, now that he offered him body and mind.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Hannibal said, gripping his jeans.

He tore them down his legs, making them both naked.

“I’m just going to kill that part of you that _is_ killing you,” he added in a croon, his eyes blood-shot with appreciation at Will’s utter abandon to him.

Will was shaking so much he couldn’t speak, even if he had wanted to.

_I touch your flesh, the heat envelops me  
It fills my thoughts with things I'd never see_

Hannibal was something hard and plush again him, something, someone, to be coveted. He had a moment to understand he was now addicted to the taste lingering on his tongue before he tried to get down on his knees, burning the skin of his neck against the rope. Hannibal grounded him against the stone wall, forcing him to still. Will began to cry, partly from the painful embrace of the rope, partly from the aching absence of Hannibal’s body, and imperious calmness, into his own. It didn’t matter if it was tongue or something else: as long as he had some part of him inside, he wasn’t prey to nightmarish visions. He felt Hannibal take a step back, felt a dark frostiness coil around his heart. He began to see dark spots. Or were they stars? It could be the sole result of the rope around his neck – but he doubted it.

Then Hannibal pushed into him. The pain was excruciating.

And he loved every moment of it.

His mouth was already conquered, but as Hannibal stretched him, he discovered he had to be owned in every way possible. The thought of his skin being torn apart could be implied, but then he might not survive.

It made him indifferent. He so, so didn’t care…

Hannibal had his hips in an iron grip and was leaning on him, his chest and legs a heating line against Will’s body. It didn’t take long for him to find the angle he desired. He had known was he was doing from the very beginning.

Will felt his knees give under him, but his salvation instrument made of hemp and flesh kept him upright. Hannibal was commanding to a spot in him he didn’t even know existed – the perfect place.

He began to cry with pleasure, panting so hard he couldn’t make out the other’s man own sounds. When Hannibal began to thrust harder into him, increasing pleasure and pain tenfold, he forgot he should ask. With the next thrust, he let go of his own name, and with the one after that, he was drown in an oblivion so complete Hannibal could have asked anything of him, and he would have complied. He couldn’t remember ever having an objection to cannibalism.

Anyway, he didn’t have a choice: it was either being own by his wild mind, or by this wild man, and he needed not consider which he preferred.

Hannibal already knew.

“Scream for me, William.”

His voice was slightly huskier than earlier, when they had kissed in his office. Will could feel rivulets of sweat trickling between their bodies, binding them, creating wet sounds each time Hannibal got out of him and pounded back inside again, incredibly violent, magically painful.

Perfect.

The only thing he was seeing now were red stars.

“Scream for me, William!” Hannibal let out in something akin to a cry.

_I'm closing in, to find our destiny  
To search the limits of all that we can be_

Will couldn’t remember screaming so loud in all his life. Hannibal’s rhythm became erratic, but he didn’t come just yet.

Will felt hands closing around his neck, chocking him instantly, with a very careful and calculated strength.

“Han… Ani…”

“Now.”

It was but a whisper. His semen spurted on the wall in front of him. Hannibal followed him soon after that, and then… then…

He lost consciousness, cradled in Hannibal’s arms.

“You are safe now, with me.”

_I won't subside, this has become too strong  
And I don't care if this is right or wrong_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This is [“Body Flow” by Interface](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WN08bVYLe1s)
> 
> [2] In French, “luxurious” and “lustful” are practically the same word, respectively “luxurieux” and “luxueux”. A simple parenthesis of a lover of languages. By the way, my mother tongue is French, so please be sparing.


End file.
